These waters
by Bookjunk
Summary: Eric tries to save Lori, but it costs him more than he could have foreseen.
1. The fear

**Chapter 1: The fear**

Cristofuoro's wife had a theory that there were two kinds of people. People who chase pleasure and people who run away from pain. Kind of the same thing if you asked Eric, but, okay, let's go with that.

Well, clearly she had never met Lori. Cristofuoro had, but the detective didn't get it. That idiot didn't get Lori at all. What was weird, though – weird in a way Eric couldn't and maybe shouldn't understand – was that he did. Lori wasn't running away from pain: she was chasing it.

She invited herself along for the ride, knowing what would lie in store. There was something horribly pathetic about that. How desperate did you need to get to willingly tag along to your own death?

Lori was clingy in the worst way. Needy. Always inanely blathering. When she did have something to say it was something Eric didn't want to hear. Like the story about Gary.

Pitiful that was. Practically screaming, _listen to me, look at me, aren't I a complete waste of space, don't I totally deserve everything that happens to me?_ All it did was make him want to smack her.

'Use your hands,' she'd requested or something similar. As if he wasn't already having trouble achieving the right state of mind necessary to kill her. Besides, she wasn't his type. Eric liked his girls darker. Dark hair, dark eyes, faintly exotic. Stunning and aware of it and confident because of it. Not Lori, who had pale, almost waxy, skin, and who was so insecure that sometimes it stung just to look at her.

'I love you,' she'd said, which had instantly smothered any desire he might have felt to take her life. He didn't want to share that intimate moment with her.

The quick flash of resignation before dying. He craved that moment; that connection. Sharp, razor sharp, because this was the end for them. The last person they'd see would be him. Even if they were one of many, he would always be the one who had killed them. Everything after that was filler. The moment slipped further and further away, until there was nothing left to do but dispose of the body.

So, he didn't touch Lori and they wound up at the lake. It was oh so quiet. He should probably have killed her there. That would have solved his problem. Both of their problems, actually, because Lori was her own problem. If he had been meaning to kill her, Lori wouldn't have done what she did. 'Cause that's all she had ever seemed to want from him. His hands around her neck, but he couldn't.

For some fucking, goddamn ridiculous reason Eric couldn't fathom, he couldn't do it.

It started out as something akin to a dance. She stood up and started to move. It was too forced to be sexy. Off-putting exactly because she was trying so hard. It was everything at once. Slow. Fast. Provocative. Repulsive. He could feel the anger surge inside him as he remembered that she couldn't swim. He told her to stop, but she continued to rock the boat. Playing with her life. Demonstrating how, if he refused to do it, she'd wreck herself right before his eyes with her reckless behavior. Still, Eric had no idea what she was about to do.

'Nothing changes,' she'd screamed. Then she gave him that look and fell. _Allowed_ herself to fall. It displayed a level of calculation he hadn't expected of her.

With Lori in the water, Eric was forced to revise his opinion of himself. Ever since Cristofuoro had told him about the theory, Eric had unwittingly placed himself in the people-who-chase-pleasure camp. That made sense. He enjoyed killing girls, so he did. But now – suddenly – he was doing something that made no sense. Not for someone who was purely a thrill seeker. It wasn't to prevent being sent back to the correctional facility, which would suck. That motive would have been nothing more than sensible. This was irrational.

If Lori drowned, he'd be alone again. And the thought of that hurt.

Who else would listen to him explain that people's feelings bored and sickened him and not run away screaming? Only stupid old Lori. She'd become a constant. The possibility of not having her around simply hadn't occurred to him until right then. He imagined the pain of losing her. Fear clawed at his insides. It was that fear that made him dive into the water.


	2. Something funny

**Chapter 2: Something funny**

How he got back into the boat was a mystery to Eric. He was nearly hysterical by then. Holding onto Lori, he amazed himself by crying. There was a persistent roaring in his ears. The roaring wasn't due to the lack of oxygen or how much strength it had taken him to drag Lori to the surface or how frantically he was trying to determine how much time had passed since she'd gone under – two minutes, five, ten, more?

It was something in the distance, approaching, but he couldn't focus on that. Not with Lori limp in his arms. She was dead, but not in an appealing manner. That thought cut right through him, almost making him choke. Eric realised with absolute clarity that he needed Lori alive.

That made him feel weak, which in turn made him angry at Lori. He stopped clutching her and willed himself to feel like he'd done before with the others. It wasn't the same. Numb, he registered the way her hair billowed around her face as she sank deeper.

And then Cristofuoro was there. Eric detected a glint of triumph in his eyes, but he told himself he must have been mistaken. The detective fished Lori out of the lake and hoisted her into the motorboat. There was an endless moment - time had ceased to mean anything - wherein Cristofuoro performed CPR. Eric watched, until Lori started coughing up water.

Though Lori didn't open her eyes, relief coursed through Eric. He became aware of everything at once. His wet clothes. The taste of the dank water still in his mouth. The hard wooden board upon which he was sitting. The silence surrounding them. The detective's disappointment.

Cristofuoro had hoped Lori would die. Lori, who had never done anything to anybody, except be there. _Exist_. Eric knew why, of course. With Lori dead, he would almost certainly have been destined back for the correctional facility. Where he belonged, according to Cristofuoro. How screwed up was that? The detective wanted Lori dead and he wanted Lori alive. It was like fucking opposite day.

How are you any better than me? Eric had wanted to ask. 'Cause it sure as hell wasn't because of the 'danger to society' that the detective wanted Eric behind bars. The detective probably told himself that, but Eric knew the real reason. No, it was because of that comment about his vegetable wife.

The detective stared at Lori, who was breathing regularly now, but whose eyes remained closed. That look of disappointment was gone from his face. He seemed ashamed of it suddenly. However, even now, Eric saw that the detective was weighing his options. Lori might not regain consciousness. This could be his only chance to get rid of Eric.

On the other hand, she might wake up. Eric could picture that vividly. Lori sitting up in a hospital bed. Everyone looking at her, hanging on her every word. She would enjoy the attention.

'No, Eric didn't push me. He tried to save me.'

That was true, but he wasn't sure that Lori had noticed that he had been yelling at her to grab the oar. Too busy with her thick headed suicide attempt. She definitely didn't know he dove in. Not that it mattered. She would say that he'd tried to save her. That was Lori.

What would happen to Cristofuoro if Lori woke up? Who would take care of his wife? The detective appeared to consider each scenario carefully.

(***)

There were several times during his first week back in the correctional facility when Eric tried to write a letter. He'd gotten it into his head that he would tell Lori's mother the truth about Gary. There wasn't much else he could do. He was in here. Lori was in a coma. But if she woke up, that would be taken care of. Eric wanted to be able to say 'when' instead of 'if,' but who the fuck was he kidding?

It felt like the decision to kill his parents. A spur-of-the-moment decision that nonetheless had been necessary. Except that really _had_ been necessary. This only felt that way. It felt poorly thought out, like it would end badly. He wasn't even doing anything. He was merely thinking about it.

Yet, he had waded in. Rash and idiotic. Giving a shit about Lori: such a stupid idea. There was no calculation, no preparation. Somehow she'd gotten under his skin.

The only goddamn hope Lori had ever had was him. She'd genuinely thought that he would love her. Or, if he couldn't manage that - and of course he couldn't: he was a fucking psychopath – that he would at least be nice enough to kill her. Maybe those two were linked in Lori's mind. Love and death. Eric could certainly see someone as fucked up as Lori making that connection.

Whenever he thought of Lori, he would feel this sort of unresolved regret. Like it wasn't over. Like they could've been something. He didn't know what. He only knew that he missed her.

He never did send that letter.

(***)

Ten days after the incident at the lake, Lori woke up.

(***)

When Eric was released, he did three things.

He briefly speculated about what would happen to Cristofuoro now, but just as easily discarded the thought.

He visited Gary.

He went to see Lori.

(***)

Lori's mother was wary of him. A good thing, he supposed. Showed some sense. Still, his polite young man act was second nature to him and it wasn't difficult to manipulate Lori's whereabouts out of her.

Constantly having to exercise control did cause Eric trouble. It was exhausting. He hadn't expected it to be like this. Pretending had been easier inside, but then again, there had been no temptation there.

Outside, it was everywhere. In his aunt's neighbourhood. At the supermarket closest to them. Several of them passed him on his way to the store where Lori worked. Their bare skin brushed against his arm. They apologised. He apologised. They smiled. He kept walking, but the experience left him shaking and sweating.

When he saw Lori, she was standing next to a CD rack. She looked different. Her hair was shorter than he remembered it being. Her movements were lighter. She seemed shiny. There was someone else observing Lori. The guy was wearing the same blue employee vest that Lori was wearing. Eric didn't like the way the guy was eyeing her, so he sidled up to him. With a studied nonchalance, he leaned his shoulder against the wall.

'Did you hear about Gary?' Eric asked. The man started and glanced at Eric, before deciding that they didn't know each other.

'Who?' the man inquired, indifferently.

'Lori's mom's ex-boyfriend. He wouldn't leave Lori alone and now he's gone.'

The man glanced at him again. This time his gaze lingered. This time his gaze was familiar. Eric had been on the receiving end of it a few times since he'd gotten out. It was how people looked at him right before they figured out who he was. But this time, Eric was wrong. The man didn't recognise him; he recognised the story.

'I heard, yeah. You mean he left?'

Eric shook his head. Keeping his eyes on Lori the entire time, he leaned a little closer. Then, finally, he looked straight into the man's eyes.

'No, I mean that he's gone,' Eric said and smiled. It wasn't a movie smile. Not one of those smiles than makes the audience go 'oh, he's the killer!' and sends shivers down their spines. Bright and scary. It was a smile with nothing behind it. The man stepped back. Suspicion clouded his features.

'Who are you?'

From the corner of his eye, Eric could see Lori approaching.

'Eric?'

He waved at her and pushed away from the wall in one effortless, fluid motion.

'Eric Komenko. Google me,' he whispered at the man, before greeting Lori.

'Hi.'

'Hi.'

'How are you?'

'Not dead. Not in a coma. Fine.'

Lori was less jittery. Aloof and not faking it. They stood around awkwardly. Eric felt awkward too, which he was so unaccustomed to that he blurted something out.

'What do you want?'

It sounded aggressive too, as if she had come here and was bothering him, instead of the other way around. Lori stared hard at him. Shoved her hands into her pockets and lifted her chin defiantly.

'Need me. That's what I want. I want you to need me like you needed that girl by the river, but you don't. So, you know, whatever.'

He tried to suppress the horror he felt at Lori's naked neediness, but it must have shown plainly on his face, because Lori laughed.

'That's what you get for trying to save little old me. You're sorry about that now, I guess.'

'Dammit, Lori! Don't,' Eric snapped. Heads turned in their direction. Lori blushed slightly.

She was always doing this. Making out like she was nothing. He didn't get what she wanted to accomplish with this kind of talk. To be pitied? Did she want sympathy, was that it? Or was she waiting for someone to confirm her fears and kick her down for good? Either way, Eric wasn't the right person. Her attitude only served to annoy him.

'I'm not sorry at all,' he amended. That was the sort of thing you were expected to say. Funny thing, though; he actually meant it.

_I'm glad you're okay. _That was true, also, but he couldn't say it. It would come out like he didn't mean it and maybe he didn't. What the hell did he know? It's not like he'd felt this way before. It's not like he's got experience with this shit.

He was venturing into unchartered territory with this whole caring business and he didn't like it. It was inconvenient.


	3. Games in the dark

Author's note: The song Lori refers to is 'Deep red bells' by Neko Case.

**Chapter 3: Games in the dark**

At night, Lori dangled in front of him like a loose thread begging to be burned before someone else could pull. All it would take was one mistake of her: game over.

At night, Eric watched his life unravel.

If she had been anyone else, he would have killed her by now. If he could approach the issue practically, she would be dead. But, no, sensibility was impossible. It went against whatever he might be feeling.

Well, emotions were bullshit anyway. They got in the way. He stared at the ceiling, casting off the sheets, trying to make sense of it all. He didn't want to hurt Lori; that was the problem. Eric didn't understand this weakness. It was like an illness.

If he could kill this feeling – this_ softness_ - he would.

Eric turned, looked at the light seeping in from under the door. This couldn't go on. That much was clear. He had to do something.

(***)

It had been several weeks since he had last spoken to Lori. She hadn't contacted him either. Eric couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not. There were two sides to everything now. Formerly, the smart thing to do had always felt right. Now there was smart _and_ right. Smart meant not driving up to see Lori. Right meant the exact opposite. Lori was like an itch he needed to scratch.

Crouching in the car, he sat outside Lori's house for hours. Like a common stalker. It was unnerving and humiliating. Look at what you make me do, Eric thought. He replayed their meeting in his mind. He'd felt so annoyed at the time. Plain irritated. There he was, on his way to killing whatever the hell her name was and out of the blue his solitary journey had turned into a road trip. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by Lori, who appeared out of nowhere and tapped the car window. Eric rolled it down.

'Hi! Give me a lift?'

Immediately, he was overcome with a feeling of dread. Put off by the exaggerated cheer in her voice. The bounce in her step. Ruled by impulses – because that wasn't dangerous at all! – Eric opened the door on the passenger's side. She slipped inside, like she belonged there. A hint of vanilla wafted in with her.

Somehow, the fact that she didn't question his presence seemed natural.

'I'll tell you where to go, alright?' she said, while securing her seatbelt. Quickly, Eric darted a glance at her. She was wearing a bright yellow summer dress. Freckles dotted her bare shoulders. The translucent quality of her skin had been replaced by a slight tan, except where the straps of her dress didn't line up. He had to make a conscious effort to focus on the more mundane task of putting the car into gear and checking the mirrors before pulling out.

Lori made no attempt to start a conversation or even to turn on the radio. She spoke only to give directions.

When she pointed out where to park, Eric allowed the car to roll to a stop. They were at the edge of a parking lot next to a bar. Lori got out of the car, dress twirling around her legs, knees scabby, red; unattractive.

'Come on!' Lori urged. Her exuberance was taxing. She tempered her skip before breaking into a full-on sprint. About to enter the bar, she paused and looked over her shoulder, waiting to see if he would come. Reluctantly, Eric went after her. They probably weren't allowed. She was seated at a table already with her back to the door. There was no one approaching their age around. Everyone in here is at least forty, Eric estimated. He took the chair opposite from Lori. She leaned her chin on her hands and smiled mischievously

'Beer? Buy me one?'

The request was clearly a dare. Childish, Eric thought. Really, what was he even doing there? The effect that Lori had on him, disturbing as it may be, didn't mean that he had to do everything she asked.

Sensing his hesitation, Lori bragged that she could get someone else to buy her a drink. Eric looked around again. He could pick out half a dozen guys who'd be willing to pay for Lori's drinks and do God knows what to her. Turning back to look at Lori, he saw that she knew it too.

Eric ordered a coke and a beer. The bartender didn't card him.

'You shouldn't drink,' Eric pointed out, unable to keep the disapproval out of his voice. Then again, why shouldn't she drink? Control was not something Lori wanted anyway. She took a sip straight from the bottle. Afterward, she grimaced and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It was a ridiculous gesture of rebellion.

'Tastes like being poor and small,' Lori observed dryly. 'Bet you've never felt like that, huh?'

Not quite knowing how to answer, Eric kept quiet. Lori leaned in, conspiratorial.

'It's a line from a song. 'Tastes like being poor and small,' I mean. You probably don't know it. The song's about the Green River Killer. It's got a nice creepy vibe.'

Because he still didn't know what to say, he simply nodded. Lori kept babbling. Just then, surrounded by other girls, one of them walked in. His type. Glossy hair the colour of rich caramel. Almond-shaped eyes. A white dress that offset her olive skin. Slim legs. Uneasily, Eric shifted in his chair. When he looked at Lori, she seemed amused.

'Hmmm?' Eric muttered, suspecting that he had missed something.

'How's your aunt?' Lori asked, obviously repeating herself. He was surprised for a split second that Lori knew, but he quickly adjusted. _Of course_ Lori knew: in all likelihood she had a scrapbook with his name on it. Eric followed the other girl with his eyes. She shyly glanced at him. He tensed and averted his gaze.

'She... wants me to apply myself academically,' he finally said. While in the midst of teasing the label off her bottle with a nail, Lori looked up and cracked a smile. Eric remembered his own drink and took a sip.

He idly wondered whether Lori was supposed to be out, though it was relatively early. He was feeling oddly protective for some reason. It wasn't Lori's recklessness that prompted it. The only thing Eric could think of to justify it was that no one else seemed willing to fill the position. No one else wanted the job of taking care of Lori. The job should have been her mother's and she certainly cared. Not enough, though.

'Where does your mother think you are?'

'Sleeping over at a friend's place. I left a note. I told you, nothing changes.'

When she went to the restroom, Eric got them new drinks. No alcohol for Lori this time.

'Gary left, by the way,' she announced when she came back. He shrugged and made no comment. Struggling to come up with a topic, Eric dug up one of their shared memories.

'What happened to your glasses?'

'I got contacts,' Lori explained. She smiled nearly constantly now. It didn't piss him off like he would have expected. On the contrary, he found it weirdly appealing. It was the sort of weird Eric was slowly getting used to. His mouth curved into a smile of its own accord.

They settled into a silence that wasn't altogether unpleasant. It didn't appear to bother Lori either. She seemed comfortable: (there was that word again) _different_. Her dress had wrinkled during the ride over, but she made no attempt to smooth out the fabric.

Transfixed, Eric tried to pinpoint what exactly was different. She had projected 'Lori, the victim' in front of her like a self-fulfilling prophesy. That was gone. She was more woman than girl now. While studying her, he completely forgot about the looming temptation. Lori addressed him.

'You'll take me home tonight. We both know that.'

She sounded so sure.

(***)

Evening was well underway. Streetlights flickered to life in the dusk. On the seat next to him, Lori was nearly bursting with excitement. She was unable to hide it underneath a calm exterior. She fidgeted with the dial of the radio, until he told her to stop. That chastised her for about a minute. Nothing could contain her. She was vibrating with energy.

'I have to pee,' Lori said.

'We're minutes away,' Eric protested. He couldn't keep the exasperation out of his voice.

'I _really_ have to pee,' she insisted. Seeing her squirm on her seat, he realised that he had no choice but to pull over. The blur of her dress disappeared into the night. Eric left the door open to dispel some of the heat. He listened to the hum of crickets and the unacknowledged chirping of a chickadee. The sweet song of the chickadee his father had called it. Eric hadn't understood why then and he didn't now. It was just the call of a bird.

Impatiently, he was contemplating turning on the radio when he heard a splash. He was out of the car immediately and tearing through the underbrush.

'Lori?'

Further away from the road, the vegetation was higher and thicker. Branches lashed against his face. He thought he spotted a dash of yellow and moved towards it. Stumbling down the slope, he called out again.

'Lori!'

Her dress was abandoned on the river bank on top of her shoes, but he couldn't see Lori. The water lapping at his feet was murky. So dark brown that it was almost black. Then, suddenly, there she was.

'Lori, no!'

He ran into the water, grabbed her arm and hauled her out.

'Relax. I took swimming lessons,' she laughed. Eric twisted her arm.

'You're hurting me,' she said, innocently. Her hair was dripping. In that moment he could have killed her, he was that angry. Instead, he kissed her.

It reminded him of all the reasons he didn't do this. She kissed him back. Her lips moved underneath his. Her mouth was warm. Her tongue came up to meet his. Her body reacted to his touch. It was rough and messy. Thoughts raced through his mind.

_Maybe it's like Gary. Maybe she doesn't want it and is kind of letting it happen 'cause what else is she gonna do? She's Lori and the world keeps fucking her over, so the best thing to do is lie back and take it. The world wins anyway. Don't struggle. Don't hope for something better._

The idea that she might not want it was overwhelming. He tried to ignore it, but it proved too much. It was important that she wanted it too. Like, he cared. Like, he wanted her to want it or he didn't want it either.

Confused, he pulled away. Lori stared at him with those big dumb eyes of hers. Eyes that were beautiful, really, when he stopped to think about it. That was probably why he had never stopped to think about it before. So, Lori had pretty eyes. Who gave a shit?

He felt sorta sick. Raw after this onslaught of emotion. Lori put her dress back on and they trudged back to the car. Eric ridiculed himself for ever thinking that she had matured. She was behaving like a petulant child. He longed to turn around and bring her back, but they were too close to home now.

(***)

'We have to be quiet,' Eric warned. Lori nodded; eager to get inside. She followed him upstairs. He switched on the light in his room and closed the door behind her. Lori drank in everything. Like absorbed it through her pores. The wallpaper, the bed sheets, the colour of the fucking curtains.

Her skin had regained its familiar pearly colour. The dampness of her dress caused it to hug her body tightly, outlining her underwear.

'You should take a shower,' Eric said. Hopefully the sound of the shower wouldn't wake his aunt up. Lori spun around. He handed her the brand new bathrobe his aunt had bought for him and told her where the bathroom was. She thanked him quietly, swaying on her feet. Her hair clung to her scalp.

'_It smells like lake.' _

Eric had thought it was a stupid comment, like most of the things Lori usually said. But that was how Lori smelled now. Like a great expanse of water, except not salty. Like rain and that not-quite-cleanliness that you get from swimming in anything except pool water.

He sat down on the bed, caught his reflection in the mirror. A dark smudge just above his ear attracted his attention. He probed the spot and inspected his hand. Blood. Weary, he tried to think of when he might have injured himself, but he couldn't come up with anything. He got up from the bed and retrieved a handkerchief.

Eric pressed it against the spot until no new blood showed up on the cloth. Lying back, he closed his eyes. He was startled awake when Lori shook his shoulder.

'I'm on the pill,' she revealed. Eric managed not to roll his eyes, but, Jesus, what a thing to say! So what? he wanted to yell; it's not like we're going have sex. Lori seemed to think otherwise. She tugged at his shirt, shoving him down on the bed.

Maybe he recognised that the feeling wasn't going to go away and he was tired of fighting it. Maybe he wouldn't mind exploring it. No sooner did the idea come into his mind than he pushed it right out. Simultaneously, he gently pushed Lori off. Undeterred, she undid the robe and straddled him. To his relief, the sight left him unaffected. He turned his head away, embarrassed for Lori's sake.

'What if I lie very still?' she asked. Her tone was half-mocking, half-serious. She rolled off of him. Eric frowned and looked at her. Lying on her left side, her back was to him.

Slowly, her breathing grew shallow until it was inaudible. In her sleep Lori looked more vulnerable and fragile than ever. He reached out to touch her, tracing an invisible line from her knee to her shoulder. Lori sighed and curled up.

Eric thought about killing her then, but not like he had thought of killing her before. Not like he wanted to and not like he needed to either. Just sort of trying it out for size and deciding that, nah, he didn't think so. Not tonight. Not Lori.


	4. On a sunny day

**Chapter 4: On a sunny day**

He dreamt about putting his hands around Lori's neck and squeezing. It was like choking himself. With a start, he woke. The door creaked. The light came on.

'Eric, I found a dress in the bathroom and...'

His aunt stopped in her tracks when she noticed the sleeping girl besides him. He quickly covered Lori with the sheet, which woke her up. She stirred and flashed a smile at him. When she saw his aunt, she sat up, eager, holding out her hand.

'Hi, I'm Lori Cranston. Nice to meet you,' she introduced herself. Eric groaned as his aunt pointedly stared at the floor.

'Lori, you're naked,' he whispered. Blinking, Lori looked down at her breasts and giggled.

'Oh, yeah. Sorry' she conceded and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Eric glanced at his aunt. She looked embarrassed, but was also trying to hide a smile. She put the pile of dry clothes she was holding on the edge of the bed. Then she quickly left. Eric followed her downstairs.

'That was a surprise. You should have told me. Is she even of age?' his aunt inquired, while folding the laundry.

'She's sixteen, but you are right. I should have told you. I'm sorry. I ran into her yesterday.'

'She's the same girl as the girl who almost drowned, isn't she?'

'Yes.'

'What is she? To you.'

She stopped folding to look him in the eyes. Eric scratched at his face and decided to tell her the truth, well, all he was willing to give away.

'We're... friends.'

His aunt seemed convinced, though it was difficult to read her. Eric thought it maybe worried and pleased her at the same time.

'Would it be okay if she came over sometimes?'

She smiled and nodded, but he could tell that she was upset. As if not being able to make up her mind whether it was a good or bad thing how much he cared. Afraid of where this might lead. He wondered about that himself.

Eric had used to discard caring. The part you throw away, he'd called it. Look at me now, he thought. The extent to which he cared about Lori was unreal. It was a tenderness in him that worked outwards, that wanted to scoop Lori up in his arms and shield her from everything dangerous in the world. Strange.

(***)

He waited until his aunt had left for work before returning upstairs. Lori was still in bed. He sat down next to her. Carefully, she leaned towards him, smoothing back his hair, running her fingers through it.

'You're bleeding again,' she murmured.

Eric had to remind himself not to flinch as she touched him and to stay still and not jerk away from the contact.

'Is that from last night? The branches snapping in your face?'

'Leave it,' he said, averting his face. Undeterred, Lori slid her fingertips over the sore spot.

'I said, leave it!'

He got up as Lori dropped her hand. He didn't have to look at her to see the hurt on her face. The sting of rejection. Lori started to dress. First her bra, then her panties and finally her dress. When she tried to pick up her shoes, Eric grabbed her hand.

'You're hurting me. Why are you always hurting me?'

_Because you like it. Because you need it. Like I need you. _Eric let go of her hand.

'Stay.'

Lori looked at him, incredulous.

'Why? You obviously don't want me.'

Sighing, he sat down on the bed. Lowered his head into his hands. Wasn't it a bitch to find out that Lori, who he didn't even like most of the time, who frankly really annoyed him with her incessant staring and pushing and offering herself to him, that Lori, who was extremely uninteresting and plain, that she was what he wanted? Not to kill, which, ugh, disgusted him more than he could articulate, but to sort of have around. Someone who came as close to knowing him as anyone ever had.

'Lori, please.'

Lori didn't move. Not to leave, but not to come forward either. She stood in a pool of soft August light. It rendered her dress practically see-through. Desire coursed through him. Impatiently, he drew her to him and buried his face in the cotton. In Lori's warm flesh. His arms around her waist. A hush fell over the room. Lori remained passive when he lifted her dress and kissed her smooth stomach.

A quiet gasp escaped her mouth. She trembled as he pulled the dress over her head and discarded it. He moved his fingers across her back, undoing her bra. She still smelled like vanilla. His nails raked her thighs as he pulled her panties down. She stepped out of them, while he took off his own clothes.

Naked, they regarded each other. His hands moved towards her throat. Pliable muscles, the tendons of her neck standing out. Her body was so vulnerable. Those trusting eyes of hers were staring up at him, waiting. How could he bite, bruise, break Lori? How could he harm her? He couldn't.

Disbelief mingled with cruel knowledge paralysed him. He kissed her. He kissed her mouth. Again and again. Her lips were still soft from sleep. His hands stayed around her throat, but loosely. He kissed her the way you were supposed to. Sweet and nice. He bet he could have faked his way right through that, but discovered that it wasn't necessary. It just came to him. He was feeling this. Really feeling this. And it scared the hell out of him.

He laid her down on the bed. The desire to be gentle was too strong, no matter how much he mistrusted it. It was almost more than he could take. The weakness in his fingers was such that he could not even make a fist, had there been any reason for him wanting to.

If he had to choose between this and killing, – and of course he had to: Cristofuoro wasn't going to stay away forever – then, Eric thought he could do it. It was a gamble, sure, but he could give it up. The thrill of life seeping away between his fingers for this.

Slowly, he sank into her flesh. His kisses intensified as their rhythm increased. His thrusts deepened. Lori moved underneath him. Eric adjusted himself to the sensation. He even came to enjoy it. The throb of Lori's body. Beneath, between, around him. Her breath on his lips. Finally, Lori came and watched him as he finished. Kissing her all the while. Tenderly.

(***)

So this was what it was like, afterwards with a girl. The realisation was startling. Eric felt uneasy as Lori's eyes followed him around the kitchen. He got out the milk and cereal. She smiled at him when he handed her a bowl. Lori swept her hair back and slid the spoon into the already soggy cereal. Now it was his turn to observe her. He couldn't eat. His throat was tight.

'You matter, Lori.'

Suspiciously, Lori glared at him.

'You matter to me,' he said, attempting to narrow down the scope of his statement, but simultaneously infusing it with more meaning than he had intended. Eric grimaced.

'Shut up,' Lori scoffed. Her voice wavered unreliably.

'Why?'

'Because, fuck you, that's why.'

After a moment of holding each others' gaze, they both burst out laughing. Before he knew what was happening, he had slipped off his chair and they were kissing again. He loved the feeling of her lips under his, her body flush against his and the chuckle caught deep in her throat. When they came, his thoughts were not methodical and detached as was their wont.

_The water's lovely. I don't think I'm ever coming out._

The end.


End file.
